THE BURSTING OF THE DAM
There was no time to waste in mourning over the fate of the two outlaws.
Scott’s first duty was to the unsuspecting ranchers in the path of the
coming flood. The waves were already washing over the top of the dam and
the old sluice gates were groaning under the strain. The storm still
raged in unabated fury. Everywhere there was running water. It was
coming down the face of the rocky slopes in sheets and all the cañons
were filled with boiling torrents. The roar of it sounded like a mighty
accompaniment to the booming of the thunder.
Before the echoes of the pistol shots had been swallowed up in the other
noises of the storm Scott sprang for the windlass, but he was too late.
Jed Clark was dead but he had accomplished his crazy purpose. With a
crash and rending of heavy timbers the sluice gates went out on the
crest of the flood and carried a small portion of the dam with them. The
whole structure trembled from end to end. Scott felt the mason work
crumbling under his feet and the swirling waters grasping at his ankles.
He scrambled desperately out of its clutches and rushed to the place
where he had left Jed. He was gone, but a frightened snort from higher
up the steep side of the cañon led him to where the terrified horse had
climbed to the base of the perpendicular wall of rock and stood
trembling, too frightened to move.
The one chance now was to beat out the flood. To reach the ranchers in
the valley below before the wall of water which would come when the dam
went out, and that could be only the matter of minutes now. It was a
desperate chance, for the trail was steep and rough, and the rush of the
waters would make it almost impassable in places.
Scott flung himself onto Jed’s trembling back and turned him down the
cañon trail. Another crash in the direction of the dam sent him plunging
ahead, and once started a mad fright took possession of him. He ran like
a fiend. Scott had learned much about riding since he had cleared the
corral fence clinging to Jed’s neck, but it required all his skill to
stay in the saddle now. He had to close his eyes to protect them from
the twigs which slashed his face, and once a jagged point of rock grazed
his knee and almost threw him from the horse’s back.
“It’s up to you, Jed, old boy,” Scott whispered in the horse’s ear, “I
can’t help you any now.”
The roar of the torrent was always with him. Now the trail dipped down
to its very edge, into it once; now it climbed high on the side of the
cañon and skirted a narrow ledge at the edge of a wall of rock. The
hollow booming of the waters hinted of sickening depths within easy
reach of a misplaced foot. It seemed marvelous to Scott that Jed could
run at that breakneck speed on such rugged ground, but the horse had
been born in the mountains, had raced over them all his life, and he
never stumbled.
He was gaining on the flood. Already he had passed the crest of the wave
from the shattered sluice gates. There was water in the stream, plenty
of it, from the drainage below the dam, but it was not the raging
torrent which it had been higher up. The storm was lessening now. A star
or two were peeping through the rifts in the black clouds and the
profiles of the mountains were beginning to loom in darker shadows.
Scott recognized the ridge ahead where the lookout station was located.
He had to turn to the left there and follow the valley instead of going
up over the pass the way he had come. From there on the country was
wholly new to him and he would have to trust entirely to Jed. He
wondered whether he ought to try to stop at the station and get Benny to
telephone the news.
A dull roar like the rumble of distant thunder shook the mountain and
Scott knew that the dam had given way. There was no time to lose now.
The rush of water from the sluice gates would be like a dribble compared
with the mighty avalanche of water which would roar down the valley now.
Moreover, Jed was not yet under control and he would do well if he could
hold him in the valley trail, to say nothing of stopping at Benny’s.
He began to talk soothingly to Jed and tried to steady him a little. As
he approached the turn in the valley he made out a figure standing on
the opposite edge of the stream. He recognized Benny and tried to stop,
but Jed was not yet ready to listen to reason. Scott succeeded in
turning him, probably because he did not want to cross the stream, but
he could not stop him. He had no control over him at all.
“The dam is gone. Telephone,” he shouted at the top of his voice as he
rushed past. Either Benny did not understand or could do nothing for he
stood there quietly on the edge of the stream and listened to the roar
of the cañon.
The ground was more even here in the wider valley, and much easier going
for the horse. He had already covered five miles at that terrific pace,
and although it did not seem to be telling on his splendid physique it
seemed impossible for any animal to keep that up for the remaining
fifteen miles to the valley. Scott began to talk to him once more. It
was the only influence to which the big horse had ever seemed
susceptible. There was no longer the roar of the water in the cañon to
frighten him. There were not the same deafening thunder crashes with
their weird reverberations, the rending of the gates was fading from his
memory. Gradually Scott could feel the straining effort lessening. He
was still making splendid time, but he was running more smoothly and he
turned back his ear to listen when Scott talked to him.
Four miles of that smooth running in the upper valley and then down the
steep trail to the main valley in which the town was located. The trail
came out to the plain near the home of the last rancher whom Scott had
gone to see about the free use permits. It was here that the strange
procession had ended that day. As Jed shot out of the cañon into the
open a man’s form darkened the lighted doorway. Evidently he had heard
the clatter of the rapidly approaching hoofs on the rocky trail.
Scott slowed down and shouted, “The dam has burst. You better beat it.
Telephone the others.”
He loosened the rein and Jed sped on. The figure disappeared instantly
and looking back over his shoulder Scott could see the lights bobbing
about the house. It was a warning of disaster to those people and they
did not hesitate. It meant the destruction of their homes and all of
their possessions which they could not move to the higher ground along
the base of the valley cliffs.
At each of the other houses he had to stop and shout to get the people
out. They had had no warning. The whole telephone system had been
disabled by the storm. The message delivered, there was no delay, no
stopping to get an explanation. The men sprang silently back to the
houses and wasted none of the precious moments which were left them.
They had been living in dread of just this thing for years and now it
had come. They had been fearing it too long to be in any doubt as to
what to do now.
All along behind Scott men were fleeing from their homes as from a
pestilence with their families and most valuable possessions in wagons
and driving their stock before them. There was many a backward glance at
the homes which would probably be ruined when they saw them again.
After each stop Scott watched Jed anxiously to see if he was in distress
but each time the noble animal took up his task willingly and was soon
back in his swinging run which sent the miles flying behind him.
There was nothing ahead of him now but the town only two miles away, and
Jed was pounding over the level plain with hoof beats as regular as the
ticking of a watch. The town was all aglow with lights and the people
were busy with their everyday affairs, ignorant of the impending danger.
Scott shouted his warning to every man he saw as he galloped up the main
street and left a trail of confusion behind him. By the time he reached
the hotel the news was ahead of him. The supervisor ran out of the hotel
to meet him. A cowboy on a fresh horse galloped away with the warning
for the people below the town.
Scott threw himself from the saddle without counting on the effect of
the long, hard ride. His knees doubled under him like the blades of a
jackknife and sent him sprawling in the street. A dozen eager hands
helped him to his feet. He wriggled from them and staggered over to
examine Jed. The big black was tired and showed it. His long barrel was
heaving like a pair of bellows and his nostrils were distended to big
red circles, but he was holding his head well up and he had his legs
well under him. Scott threw his arms around the horse’s neck and hugged
him there before them all.
“Where did you come from?” Mr. Ramsey asked.
“Clear from the dam,” Scott said proudly, “and he ran every step of the
way.”
“Didn’t run down that cañon trail from the dam, did he?” one of the men
grinned.
“You bet he did,” Scott said. “He was running away with me then; I did
not get control of him till we passed the lookout station.”
It was perfectly natural in this country of horsemen that the first
interest should have been in the performance of the horse. There was no
actual danger there at the town. The valley was so wide and level at
this point and it was so far from the cañon that at the very worst there
would be only a few inches of water in the streets and a few flooded
cellars. The storekeepers were busy getting their supplies from the
cellars and off the main floors on to the shelves, but they had all the
help they could use and there were plenty of people left over with
nothing to do but watch and wait and talk.
Mr. Ramsey and Scott took Jed around to McGoorty’s stable and gave him
the best rub down that a horse ever had.
“When did the dam go out?” Mr. Ramsey asked.
“I don’t know what time it was,” Scott said, “but it was just before I
turned the corner below the lookout station.”
“Did you see all the settlers?”
“Yes, every one from Bronson’s to town and they did not lose any time in
getting started.”
“How did it happen?” Mr. Ramsey asked quietly.
Scott discovered a note of censure in his voice and knew that he was
expected to give an account of himself.
“It’s a long story,” he replied thoughtfully. “Dawson, Jed Clark, Dugan,
myself and the worst thunder storm I have ever seen were all more or
less responsible, I think.”
At the mention of those names, Mr. Ramsey gave a start. “I wonder how
those men found out you were up there?”
“Your clerk, Benson, told them.”
“How do you know that?” the supervisor asked sharply.
“I heard Dawson ask him over the telephone and he answered that he had
tried to get the information to him for some time but could not locate
him.”
The hard steely look came suddenly into the supervisor’s eyes. “That
accounts for the way that a lot of information has been leaking out of
my office,” he remarked coldly.
“By the way,” Scott said, “Dawson is lying up in that little cabin at
the dam with a broken jaw. He is in pretty bad shape and some one ought
to go after him.”
“I don’t suppose you know how he was hurt?” Mr. Ramsey asked with a
quizzical look.
“Yes,” Scott grinned, “I think that I can explain it. Perhaps I had
better begin at the beginning and tell you the whole story,” he added.
Mr. Ramsey was very anxious to get the story, but he saw that Scott was
so tired that he could scarcely keep his eyes open. “Better go to bed
now. We’ll go over the whole thing in the morning and take a party up to
rescue Dawson.”
They had been talking in the stable. “Is Jed safe here?” he asked
anxiously.
“Yes,” the supervisor replied, “he’s perfectly safe. The town is in no
danger. There may be an inch or two of water in the streets in the
morning and it may not get here at all. This ground soaks up a
tremendous amount of water and the valley is so wide that it cannot
amount to much. I am afraid that it will wipe out some of those small
ranchers above here.”
Scott avoided the curious ones in the hotel lobby who were anxious to
hear his story and was soon asleep dreaming of rushing waters and a
runaway horse.